


Work In Progress

by vicariously kingly (pelted)



Series: In Homage to Theoxenia [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, by the third remarriage you'd think they'd figured it out, garlean brand xenophobia - otherwise known as just plain old xenophobia, relationships are hard...... and so is communication when ur head's up ur butt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26583643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelted/pseuds/vicariously%20kingly
Summary: Competition invites jealousy. It's only natural.Naturally, Cid disagrees.
Relationships: Cid nan Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva
Series: In Homage to Theoxenia [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859977
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Work In Progress

**Author's Note:**

> this ficlet technically takes places during [Anabasis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25986778/chapters/63178627), but all you really need to know is that time travel rearranged some history, there's new alien tech in town, and Emet-Selch is around to help investigate it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“What crawled up your pant leg and bit you on the ass, Nero?”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Outside their tent, lively music and happy chatter filled the encampment as the Scions' foreseeably long stay was properly celebrated. While Cid had joined in for some time, especially to welcome G’raha back to the waking world (and the Source, _apparently_ ), he’d retired to the replicator’s tent to double-check everything was where it was supposed to be. Nothing made a morning more sour than realizing he’d left his favorite coffee mug unwashed and unsecured, such that he needed to wash bugs out of it before he could use it again.

It wasn’t much of a surprise that he found Nero hunched over the replicator’s interactive screen, an oil lamp burning steadily on the table behind him. Though he’d lurked on the outskirts of more than a few during their days at university, Nero wasn’t one for parties. In fact, Cid would bet real money that he was currently cursing their tent’s thin walls.

Cid had inquired what he was looking into. He’d replied that he was filling out the manuscript that Emet-Selch had kickstarted for them, as the language wasn’t _too_ difficult to record even though it was teeny-tiny and absolutely burned the eyes if stared at for super long.

Knowing his own eyes too tired for such work, Cid had meant to leave him to it. Except then Nero had gone on about Emet-Selch’s awful handwriting, and awful organization, and general awfulness generally, with the occasional potshot at Cid for allowing the man access to their records, since he was _obviously_ the type to commandeer an operation and think himself the best of the best without providing actual proof.

The man definitely had a superiority complex, but he also had walked in and jump started their progress from zero-point-two percentage to a solid five-percent. That was more than enough actual proof of his abilities, Cid thought.

Despite Nero’s many attempts at acting sly, he sometimes was as easy to read as an engine in need of a ceruleum change. He was easiest to read when he was irritated by another person, and itching to start a fight.

This talk about Emet-Selch’s supposed incompetencies? Definitely heralded a future fight. 

Not wanting to scare off their newest asset before he’d even really started, Cid crossed his arms, propped a hip against the replicator’s side, and asked Nero point-blank: _what was his deal?_

Nero, of course, had to be difficult about answering. He sputtered and protested, his whole body coiled tight with indignation.

Cid elaborated, “You’ve been acting like a real prat today. Even more than usual.”

“Me?” Nero scoffed. “I’m a daisy compared to that Emet-Selch.”

“How do you know? The man has barely been here a week.”

“Yet he already figured out how to turn this bulky box on? _And_ began a translation script?”

That was… startlingly specific. 

Mental cogs turning, Cid narrowed his eyes. 

Nero caught the look, and bristled. “If you have something you want to say, Garlond, then pray tell, let it out. As you’re well aware, the world ever awaits to receive word of your infinite wisdom.”

Well. If he was asking for it, fine. He wasn’t going to be happy about what Cid had to say.

Cid said, “You’re jealous.”

Predictably, Nero dove straight into denial. He waved a hand before his face as if clearing away a bad smell, his whole expression scrunched with distaste. 

“Jealous! Don’t make me laugh. Jealous about what? His terrible hair? He looks like an off-kilter skunk.” 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Not the hair thing but, “You’re not jealous about his skill or knowledge.” 

Nero was unfalteringly and incomprehensibly competitive with _him_ , but some random stranger? No way. When it came to progress on a project, he wasn’t picky about the source. No halfway decent engineer could afford to be that petty, lest they stall out in their learning before reaching any substantial work.

Nero snorted, returning his attention to the replicator’s screen in a big, obvious snub toward the conversation. He muttered underbreath, “What else does he even offer?”

_What, indeed._

Cid mused, “His methods are surprisingly familiar, aren’t they? Even when he didn’t recognize a term we used, he understood where we were going with it immediately.”

“I’d like to know where exactly he was trained,” Nero mumbled back, putting a pen into his mouth as he scrolled the screen back to its top. The pen bobbed as he spoke. “The Scions of the Seventh Hell collect the strangest companions. You should vet them better before allowing them into our work.”

That was a fair point. “I wonder that, too. He’s obviously not Garlemald-born.”

“ _Obviously._ ”

“What do you think our old classmates would have made of him?” Sometimes talking about Garlemald with Nero hurt. Sometimes it didn’t. This was one of the latter, if only because it allowed reminiscing on friendly faces and colorful personalities that faded naturally from his life after he left the university. “I bet he would have driven more than half our professors up the wall. Or around in circles, til they were so turned around they ended up half a wall without realizing it.”

“By his annoying, droning voice alone, mayhap.” Nero jabbed too-hard at the screen. “ _Why_ are we still talking about Emet-Selch? Weren’t you going to bed?”

Cid dropped his arms to his sides, not believing what he heard. “Honestly? You’re the one who can’t stop bringing him up!”

“I had a series of valid concerns about what talent we were bringing onto our team. I’ve exhausted my concerns. You should retire as you planned, and mull them over.” Nero hunched further over the screen, at last taking the pen from his mouth to scribble something onto his notepad. “If you must linger, then keep it down, would you? I’m trying to get some work done.”

Jeez. He could be so hot and cold! Just like when Cid had partnered with Evander for work in implementing a new combustion system in the bipedal magiteks, and Nero had spent a week alternating between giving him the cold shoulder and getting in his face about Evander’s many supposed faults-- 

… Wait.

No way.

Absolutely _no way._

Unfortunately: once the thought struck, it popped everything else into place. While it didn’t compute in Cid’s brain, knowing roughly how Nero operated, it made complete sense.

“You’re worried we’re going to get along,” he accused, leaning forward onto the replicator to stare Nero dead in the eye, if only he’d look up. “Him and me.”

“ _No._ ” Nero replied, too fast and low. “That’s preposterous. I’ve never cared what manner of idiot you’ve decided to keep company with.”

“That’s just it,” he shot back, “this _isn’t_ just some idiot. He’s clearly got brains, and he works with the Scions, so, absent a tragedy, he’s going to be around for some time yet.”

“Would you care to arrive at your point before the next Calamity strikes, Garlond?”

“We barely know him, and you’re already jealous of me trading theories with him.” Nero acted as if he didn’t hear Cid’s words, continuing in his notepad scribbling with a stern straight face. That, more than anything else, convinced Cid he was right. While a bit of him was pleased at figuring it out, the rest of him was pure exasperation. “Seriously, Nero? What, do you think he’s going to replace you or something? You’re the one who keeps taking off at the end of every project. If you wanted us to be a real, exclusive team, you’d--”

Nero brandished the pen in his direction. Absurd though the feeble weapon was, the look on his face was deathly serious.

“ _While_ we work together, I’m not getting sidelined.” He spoke through gritted teeth, his tension from earlier back tenfold. “Not on my own damn project. Not again.”

“You’re not!” Cid replied, baffled. _Again?_ Why couldn’t Nero ever talk in a straight line? “When was that ever brought up as an option?”

“I’m nipping the idea in the bud.” Nero wagged the pen at him. “Mark it down. This is a duo-led project, not a triad. All chief seats are filled.”

Outside, Cid became very aware that the celebrations were beginning to die down. They needed to keep their voices low or they’d be interrupted and Nero would, depending on who heard what, be an absolute behemoth to work with in the morning. Although he’d deny it and Cid had too much respect for him to bring it up anyway, these sorts of talks always happened when the other was feeling particularly vulnerable.

Rounding the replicator, Cid allowed, hands up and palms out, “Alright, fantastic. Consider it noted.”

Nero scrutinized him harshly as he approached. 

Once he was at Nero’s side, he stopped. A brittle silence descended between them. On Nero’s side were old, unresolved insecurities that Cid knew the shape of but really, truly, didn’t know how to dispel. Whenever he tried, he seemed to make it worse. So, he kept quiet, and forced himself to think along different paths, because pressing the issue was akin to rigging Nero to blow up in his face. 

The thing was, at present, they were working great together. Even with Gaius and his troop surrounding their camp, Nero ignored them in favor of the project, which was interesting and specialized enough that it would likely continue for some time. The weeks-long good fortune made them due for either a _real_ argument or a life-threatening scenario, but-- Cid hoped that this time, it wouldn’t. Surely, after everything, they’d changed enough that they could make it through some ancient grievances.

Nero must have thought the same, as he didn’t circle back to his jealousy. Instead, after a few clock-ticks too long to be comfortable, he muttered, “I suppose you’re usually a man of your word.”

Though Cid rolled his eyes and said, “Gee, thanks. What a ringing endorsement,” he knew an olive branch when he was offered one. Grabbing hold of its metaphorical end, he offered back, “Are you actually going to keep working? It’s pretty late. I don’t even know how you’re seeing straight right now.”

“My eyes are burning,” Nero admitted. “These screens are pretty harsh. Wish we’d find the lighting settings.”

“If they’re there, trust that they’re top priority. For both our sakes.” 

Nero put the pen down on the notepad. Shoving the lot away from himself and the replicator’s edge, he then straightened and stretched his arms over his head. By the multiple pop-pop-pop along his spine, retiring had been a good idea.

“We need proper chairs,” Nero groused, as he almost always did at the close of a day, “with real back support. I’m getting too old for this standing-and-hunching business.”

“And here I thought you’d always dreamed of looking like a gargoyle. You’ve already got the cheekbones.”

“Har, har. Funny.” Tension from their almost-real-argument eking out of him, Nero eyed him contemplatively. Just as Cid was about to ask if something was on his face, he said, “You should give me a massage. Then I’ll give you one.”

“I’m not giving you a massage.” 

“Why not? You haven’t been writing since dusk. Your hands must be feeling great. They’d feel even better working the knot out from between my shoulderblades.”

“I won’t, because even when you promise to return the favor, you never do.”

“What if I tell you that I really mean it this time when I say, if you give me a massage, I’ll--?”

Because it was a tried and true method of shutting him up and making him let go of never-happening ideas (and because their almost-real-argument had ended _well_ , and he wouldn’t wake up to Nero ducking camp to go who-knew-where for who-knew-how-long), Cid stepped into his space and kissed him.

In either reflex or a similar relief deep in his chest that he would never give voice to, Nero took a moment to process the change in conversational direction and then kissed back. 

He was a good kisser. Actually, he was a great kisser. 

It probably helped that they’d taught each other how to kiss, and hadn’t stopped practicing whenever their paths managed to cross.

Kissing Nero was always like coming home, in a way that sometimes hurt and sometimes didn’t. This night it didn’t, because Nero would be there in the morning. When Nero turned himself around so that he was almost sitting back on the replicator, Cid took the chance to close what little space they had left between them. Nero’s legs shifted apart to accommodate him in between. He settled a hand around the nape of Cid’s neck, ducking his head down to deepen the kiss, mouths parting and tongue darting--

And then he pulled back with a slight hiss, his neck popping this time as he straightened. 

“You weren’t kidding about getting too old for this, huh?” Cid joked, hands settled comfortably on the other’s waist.

“I’ve been slaving away over this contraption all night, while you meandered around and made nice with old friends,” Nero complained. “Gladdened though _I_ also was to see that miqo’te alive and awake--”

“Do you even recall his name?” 

“His family name is Tia.”

“That’s a designation, not a,” Cid began, then cut himself off. Nero cared about Eorzean culture about as much as he cared about _making nice_. Actually, he cared about learning native cultures far less, especially because he’d drawn completely arbitrary lines about what he considered to be going ‘too far’ to ‘blend in.’ Since assimilation was another conversational danger zone that usually ended in him wanting to tear out his hair while Nero threatened to trash his favorite goggles, Cid decided not to get into it. So, huffing out a short breath, he restarted with, “How about we make good on my original plan to retire for the night?”

“I _am_ happy to see him around again,” Nero said, stiffly. “In case you forgot, he had a hand in making sure I returned, also alive and awake. Just because I don’t perfectly remember those ridiculous miqo’te names--”

“Nero.” Cid tightened his hands on his hips. “Enough. Here, or my bed?” 

“... Your bed.” So he said, even as he again hunched forward to slip his hands into Cid’s back pockets. “Less sand in uncomfortable places. And now that we know this box is touch-activated, I don’t want to turn anything on and mess up our progress.” He squeezed his hands. Though he really should’ve expected it, Cid still jumped and had to bite down a yelp. By Nero’s smug smirk, his face had flushed an incredible red. “That is, I don’t want to turn on anything I don’t _mean_ to turn on.”

“You’re unbearable,” Cid informed him bluntly, but then leaned up on his toes to snag a kiss before they (slowly, distractedly) made their way to his tent.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! find me at [peltyfluff](https://twitter.com/peltyfluff) on twitter if you like :]


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